


Like a Shooting Star

by TellThemNaegi



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/F, F/M, Implications, Late Night Conversations, Love/Hate, Minor Maizono Sayaka/Naegi Makoto, Unreliable Narrator, interpret it however you like, lots of them - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-23
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 19:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellThemNaegi/pseuds/TellThemNaegi
Summary: It's always nice to sit down and unwind with a friendly chat. Sure, it's past 4 in the morning. Yes, Makotomighthave broken in somehow. Certainly, her floor was a mess. All troublesome incidences but easily forgiven. Makoto desecrating freshly blended,premiumLuwak by overloading on sugar? Much less agreeable.The earthy flavor of civet was rich and savory by design. Impurities had to be removed.
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Maizono Sayaka, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto, Maizono Sayaka/Naegi Makoto
Comments: 15
Kudos: 14





	Like a Shooting Star

Kyoko opens her eyes and bears the wave of dissonance assaulting her senses. A moment’s introspection reveals her old purple gloves, academy uniform, and heels. The blare of the familiar, yet distant school bell draws her attention to the main campus. One by one, then in droves, students file out of the doors. All faceless.

Nausea subsides and realization dawns – **This is a dream.**

She recognizes two among the crowd as she classmates . . . and dear friends. A boy in a brown blazer and hair a porcupine would recognize as family. The equally animated companion by his side holds Kyoko’s attention for a while longer. She wore a beige sweater above the uniform and had hair like the deep blue sea.

What were their faces like back then _? –_ She wonders as their stares meet her own.

“There you are, Kyoko!”

Which of them called out to her . . . or was it both?

“I can’t help getting suspicious when you’re this excited to see me after class _just_ finished.” Kyoko tries guessing at their intentions.

“If you’re free, come hang out with us.” A seemingly innocent invitation. Back then, she accepted and wound up accompanying the two around the nearby mall. It was easy to keep up with conversation, harder to immerse herself in it as they could.

“You’ve got to be dying for a bite if you’re looking at your food like _that_.” Makoto wiggles his eyebrows.

“Hardly.” Kyoko scrunches her nose down at the pasty, wrapped in a white napkin and rife with sugar. “It looks too sweet for my palate.”

“Why’d you order it then?” Sayaka’s confusion is about as genuine as Celes’ European heritage.

“You’ve both got guts acting like you didn’t cajole me into buying it.” 

“Then maybe we’ll trick you into eating it too.” Sayaka said shyly.

“If you think you can.” She threw down the gauntlet.

"You asked for it. Just so you know, we're _very_ convincing." Makoto boldly declared.

“You _did_ spend all that money, Kyoko.” Too obvious, Ms. Maizono.

“If sunk cost is the best you can do, then _best_ give up now. It’s chump change.” Kyoko smirked wryly.

Makoto scrambles his brain for a way to penetrate the chink in her armor. “You say that, but it’s not like you’ve thrown it away. You’re curious, aren’t you? Just admit it and take a bite.” He said, smugly.

Kyoko turns away from him and finds the nearest bin.

“Hold it!” Makoto swipes it pastry just before it fell down the hole. “Jeez, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

That snack may have cost a few hundred yen, but the victory was priceless. “Why go so far anyway?”

Makoto and Sayaka share a look. “We wanted to see your expression.”

What a childish reason, not to mention unnecessary. “Just invite me for good coffee next time.”

“That’s . . . so you. Can’t you get out of your comfort zone a little?” Sayaka paused mid-way. Her cell phone vibrated. “I gotta take this.” She excuses herself.

Right after this . . .

“Sorry, guys. My sister’s fighting with my parents and she wants my backup.” Sayaka frantically apologizes.

“Is it serious?” Makoto asked.

“Boyfriend troubles.”

“I don’t envy you.” Kyoko muttered. “But no need to apologize. We’ll just have to see you tomorrow.”

After that, it was just the two of them.

“Did you give it some thought? Trying something new, I mean.” Makoto proposes.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” Kyoko taps her chin. She’s inclined to dismiss the idea outright, but that expectant look on her friend’s face was quite difficult to turn down. “Today’s your lucky day. I’ll give you the option of choosing what we do next.”

“Eh, really?”

“Careful, this is an extremely rare chance. If I get bored, I’m gone.” Purely a joke. Honestly, the entire outing had been a pleasant change of pace, but he didn’t have to know that.

Makoto takes the warning to heart and does his best to impress. To his credit, a music store was far from the worst places he could take her.

The fragrance of lavender already left a worthwhile impression. “What are we doing here?”

“Everyone likes music.” He counters before she even forms a rebuttal. “And those who don’t haven’t listened to the right ones.” He grabs her hand and leads her around the store.

“You sure are cheeky today.” Kyoko hides a blush. She spots posters and stands and various musicians that she knew by face and name, not merit.

He directs her to a row of CDs with gaudy header spelling ‘Best-Selling Albums' and 'Oricon Chart: Top 100.'

“Want some recommendations?” Makoto asks.

“I’ll be fine on my own.” Kyoko ~~defiantly~~ said.

“Alright then, I’ll be right back.” Makoto zips around the corner.

The detective sifts through the display, ignoring the background noise. The cover of a particular album catches her eye. On the jacket of Sayaka Maizono’s Greatest Hits was the star herself. Kyoko has never seen the photo, but that pretty face and dazzling smile unmistakably belonged to Sayaka. Age 27. The hair gave the timeframe away. The celebrity had dragged Kyoko to get their hair done at a high-class salon. Kyoko initially refused but Sayaka never took no for an answer . . . and never let anyone escape her. In the end, they’d both left with the same messy bob hours before her shoot.

It’s how Kyoko remembers her best.

As if in a trance, Kyoko was on her way to the register, only to bump into Makoto partway. The brunet peeks at her choice and bemusedly raised his brow. “…really?”

Kyoko faked a cough. “I might as well start closest to home.”

He laughs, somehow not minding how their mutual friend seemingly aged-up several years on that cover. “Let’s pick it out.”

“Hold on.” Kyoko cuts him off, spying a CD player in his hands. “Why do you have that?”

“You’re going to need something to play the disc on, won’t you?”

“I don’t recall asking.” Kyoko crosses her arm.

“Don’t worry, this is on me.”

“Not what I meant.” She sighs. “I’m thankful for your generosity, but I really have done nothing to deserve it.”

He points to the album. “ _That_ proves otherwise.” Then to the gift. “I’ve got to show much I appreciate you.”

He really had been cheeky that day.

A single word came to mind in the face of that reverence. “Why?”

His mouth moves, but she couldn’t hear his answer.

The ‘Kyoko’ then heard, brushes her braid, and turns away with a sharp blush.

 _What was said?_ – All Kyoko remembered was feeling embarrassed . . . and deeply unsettled.

* * *

Kyoko opens her eyes and sits up on the bed. Her forehead is damp with sweat, and breaths, short and fast.

The crash of thunder alerts her to the window. A rainstorm was passing through, yet the next sound she heard wasn’t caused by the weather. It was the noise of furniture dragging along the hardwood floor.

As fast as the thunder roars outside her window, Kyoko darts out of bed, aims for the drawer, and straps on her outfit for the night - A black tank top, shorts, a phone, sandals, and a loaded gun.

She makes her way to the kitchen where the lights are on.

Whatever they were stealing better have been damn good because it might just be their last.

“Who’s there?” She trains her pistol at the figure, who froze and dropped the snack stolen from the fridge. She knew that brown mop of hair and spiky antenna anywhere.

She slowly lets the gun fall to her sides. “Makoto?”

“Kykwew.” Apparently, he hadn’t dropped _everything_. The food stuffed in his mouth had survived. At least until he gulped it all down. “Hey, Kyoko. Sorry for dropping by.”

She had so many questions, but for the moment, she could only think of the mess on her once-pristine floor. “Clean that up.”

* * *

“This is certainly a surprise.” A welcome one making himself at home at the dining table. He’d bulked up somewhat in the time they’d been apart. So noticeable compared to the boy in the dream that it showed beneath the rain-drenched, green sweater. “Interesting clothes.” She notes.

“Thanks. I got em’ real cheap.”

No doubts there. Instead, she places a hot cup of coffee in front of him. “It’s Kopi Luwak.”

It was courtesy to name the brand, even if she knew the extravagance of the gesture was lost on him.

“Uh thanks.”

“I added plenty of sugar.” She said dryly. _Reluctantly_.

“Thanks!” A world of difference in enthusiasm. Kyoko drapes a towel over his head and begins drying him off. 

“Stop moving.” She commands, and he’s still as a stone slab until she’s finished.

His gaze trails her steps as she sits across him.

She plants the gun on the table. Those doe-eyes veer to it and twitch oh so subtly.

“An excuse to get coffee in me is always appreciated . . . as are you.” Before drinking out of her own cup, she smiles. An expression so rarely shown to the public. Friends are a different story and excruciatingly small in number. Even among that select group, Makoto stands out.

She remembers the once-(un)lucky student following her around everywhere in school. To this day, she laments how harshly she treated him in the initial stages of their relationship. A normal boy may have grown to hold a grudge against her, but Makoto was of a different sort. Despite her coldness, he had been helpful _and_ adorable. _Especially_ when she threw a sly compliment his way.

There had only been one issue.

“Y-You still like to stare, huh?” He laughs. A poor attempt to distract her from his reddening cheeks.

“I’ve done nothing wrong and have nothing to apologize for.” Kyoko teases.

“Haha . . . haaa.” Makoto sighs. “You don’t look so good, no offense.”

He refers to the bags under her eyes. “Pardon me if I’m missing a good night’s rest.”

“Oh . . . my bad for waking you.”

“It’s alright. I haven’t had a night’s worth of sleep in a long time.”

“Why’s that?” He inquires.

“Work.” She lies.

“I see.” He buys it. “That reminds me. How’s detectiving been going?”

That wasn’t a word, but she’ll let him off easy on that one. “It took me abroad.” He knew that. She’d told him before he left. Was he lonely? “I’d explain the details, but my occupation isn’t something to bring up in casual conversation.” Yet he always listened, patiently. This time was no different. “There was need for a _Kirigiri_ in Russia. Grandfather is bedridden, so the task was left to me.”

“That so?” Makoto brings the cup of coffee to his lips. Her ears perk at the pleased mewl that follows. “Can I add more sugar?”

He jumps when Kyoko slams her palm on the table. No need to worry about reddened flesh or stinging on the numb, burned skin. “It will be _more_ sugar than _coffee_ at that point, Makoto.” And that would be an affront to one of the few pleasures in her life. She won’t stand for it.

“It was a joke.” He scratches his chin.

“. . . You’re one to talk about bad habits.” Kyoko folds her arms.

“I-I’m not that bad, am I? Yeah, I like things on the sweet side but compared to Aoi—”

“I’m referring to how you deflect from topics that make you uncomfortable.” Makoto is naïve, but that fact could make even bigger fools of others who conflated naivete with stupidity.

“I’ve . . . never liked your grandfather, so I can’t bring myself to feel sorry. _Sorry_.” No surprises there.

“Fair enough, even if I don’t understand your anger towards him.”

“He took something important from you.”

“I’ve never seen it that way.”

“That’s the-” Makoto pauses, knowing he was at a dead end. In their younger days, there may have been raised voices and scathing remarks (more so on her end). One of their few spats was centered on this very issue. It had annoyed Kyoko then – how loudly he barked.

A pissed-off Makoto was quite the sight. With the little experience and affinity he has with expressing anger, he reacts poorly, _uncontrollably_.

“Did you make any new friends overseas?”

Kyoko tilts her head to the side. “Why would I? It was a business trip.”

“Any work-related friends?”

“ _It was a business trip.”_ She repeats. _“_ That was hardly necessary or professional conduct.”

He smiles at her. A sad, knowing gesture. “ _That_ is why I can’t forgive him.”

. . . Kyoko takes a page out of his book.

“Enough about me.” Not that she had divulged much, to begin with. “How are you doing?”

“I was a little lonely.” Of course. “A lot of my friends are Sayaka’s friends . . . and it’s pretty awkward now. Even at home.” His face contorts, like the coffee suddenly turned bitter.

It had been a bad breakup between high-school sweethearts. The two were famous on campus for being a perfect match. The day the couple was announced, Kyoko’s classmates consoled – _pitied_ her like she’d lost something irreplaceable. It was ridiculous. She loved Makoto, but not like that. She never felt the fabled pang of jealousy whenever the idol whisked him away. At most, there was an emptiness, seeing the two far away from her. Even when they were within arm’s reach . . . No, she _had_ been envious. Makoto and Sayaka had kept her close, even after their college years, but it was never enough. The longing she’d felt towards them was real, but she was a Kirigiri. It was unacceptable to let emotions carry her away.

If anyone should have been pitied, it ought to have been Leon. The athlete who had a crush on the starlet from the first day. One severe enough that he’d complained to the detective on numerous occasions. Once, he’d alluded to a scheme that would break them up. Leon never said it outright, but his intentions were obvious. Kyoko subtly refused and they never spoke again. Over time, she believed Leon moved on.

Until Makoto came to her, many years ago. Sayaka and Leon were spending more time together, under the pretense of the redhead wanting music tips. A normal boyfriend would have concerns. Naturally, the trusting Makoto didn’t have a single doubt in his lover’s fidelity.

That just wouldn’t do, in the detective’s opinion. Makoto was her friend. He lent her an ear whenever Kyoko needed him. She owed it to Makoto to make him aware of the _possibilities_. All of them.

“In the end, they weren’t seeing each other, were they?” Kyoko prompts. At least, there wasn’t any proof. No illicit texts or sightings. In hindsight, it would have been incredibly difficult for a celebrity of that caliber to hide an affair for long. Especially from _her_.

“How could have I gotten that _ridiculous_ idea in my head? I’ve gotta apologize to Sayaka as soon as I can for doubting her.” He says as if it had been _his_ doing to plant those seeds of doubt.

“Distance is good for the heart, and to mend it. No need to rush when you’ve got till the end of the month.” Kyoko said.

“You’re always right.” Makoto isn’t as bothered by what happened now as before. He falls but never surrenders. If the whole world flipped upside down, he would persevere. That didn’t make Makoto a solitary man. He craved direction and comfort like everyone else. Kyoko fills that role to the best of her ability. Whenever he was uncertain, he came to her. Always. And she would tell him everything he needed to hear, and what he needed to do.

To Kyoko’s shame, she wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes. Like with Sayaka, Kyoko erred in her judgment. To Makoto, that didn’t matter.

When her advice is successful, he showers her with praise.

When she missteps, he blames himself.

As a dear friend to this good man, it gave her no shortage of worry. Speaking of “Will you try to reconcile with Leon as well?”

“He’s taken care of.”

The record scratches. Kyoko presses rewind and fears she heard correctly. “Pardon me?”

Makoto crosses his fingers. His eyes fall to his cup, entranced by the black ripples on its surface. “I’ve already gone to meet him.”

“Y-You shouldn’t have-” Kyoko stops herself. _Reprimands_ herself for that unacceptable (and weak) outburst. “You should have told me. I would have smoothed things out for you two.”

“No, that’s okay.” He looks her in the eye. “You’ve done enough.”

“I see. Leon aside, have _you_ made any new friends?” She changes the topic. It proves successful when his lips curve upward.

“Tons, but it’s not the same as the ol’ gang, you know?” The short-lived happiness is quickly replaced with a frown.

“What about your sister?”

His eyes drop, and his shoulders grow too heavy to keep straightened. “She’s still a little… _really_ mad.”

“They will get over it.”

“Maybe. But at least I’ve got you.” He bounces back in true Makoto fashion – An optimistic disposition that bypassed even the toughest guard.

“That goes without saying.” Kyoko reaches over the table to pat his head. He squirms under her touch.

Cute – she imagines his wagging tail.

“You think Sayaka will forgive me too?”

“You said she wasn’t angry with you in the first place.”

“It was more that . . . I think she was worried.” His eyes are planes of glass and his voice is barely above a whisper.

“If you’re sincere, she’ll forgive you.” The blue-haired singer was perceptive.

“I hope so.” He moves to stand “Sorry for springing this on you.”

“That was the fifth apology. I’m starting to get offended.” She jokes. “You’re always welcome, but . . . it’s dangerous walking out at night. Try not to do it again.”

“Yeah, I was tired out before I even got here.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. Shyly, he asked. “If I promise not to do it again, will you hang out with me more?”

“I’ve taken the month off just for you. I’ll visit every day.”

“That’s great. I’ll head out now if you don’t mind.”

Kyoko stands, passes by him and motions towards the fridge. She opens the appliance and searches for the box of food she'd stored earlier that night. “Here. It’s leftovers. It should tide you over on your way.”

When she turned around, Makoto surprised her. He wraps his arms around her waist, one rising up the small curve of her back, sifting through lavender strands and resting at the back of her skull. Meanwhile, he digs his face in the gap of her neck and shoulder. Kyoko returned the embrace as deeply as she could. They stayed there for what seemed like hours. The only evidence to the passage of time was the claw of his hand on her head, and his lower arm pressing against her until it hurt.

Kyoko gasps at the pain, and he pulls away just enough to look at her. For a moment, she catches those lidded, glassed-over hazels boring to her.

Naïve. Not stupid.

She unlatches the hold on the back of her head. It's clear that she's not pushing him away when her scarred fingers interlock with his soft ones.

She smiles when he squeezes back.

He doesn't.

And that's fine. Whatever he felt at that moment, it was a fact that she was the only one he had eyes for right then. And so, she _had_ to ask. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

“I wanted to see you.” He said, expecting the question.

“And?”

His eyes grow cold. “I’d know when I saw you.”

“And what you decide on?” She wanted a clear answer, and he would give her one.

Makoto’s glacial expression melts into pure amicability as he pulls away from her “To have coffee with an old friend.” There wasn’t room for any further questioning.

They separate and prepare for his departure.

“It should still be pouring.” Makoto looks to the side of the entrance. “Mind if I borrow that umbrella?”

“Keep it.” She holds out her purse. “Need any money?”

“Nope, there’s still a bunch of cash left in the wallet I got. Good night.” His hand twists the knob.

“I had a dream about us tonight.” Kyoko blurts out, just before he leaves.

Makoto faces her. “What kind of dream?”

“That depends on your answer . . .” She explains the details of her adventures in slumber.

“Yeah, I remember a bit of that.” He said nonchalantly.

. . . So it _did_ happen. “Do you happen to recall what you told me before buying the CD player?” A single, forgotten line that still made her detective’s intuition flare-up.

Makoto rubs his chin, looking at her strangely. “. . . Heh.”

Kyoko’s brow twitches. “Care to explain that just now?”

“It’s just . . . I never thought you of all people could have a faulty memory.”

“And what, exactly, is faulty about my recollection?” Kyoko said between grit-teeth.

“I won’t tell. It’s not every day I get to hold one over on you.”

“I want to slap that grin off your face.” Though irate, Kyoko couldn’t help but grin back.

“Maybe next time. Think about it until then. One part stands out as plain wrong.” Makoto waves goodbye, this time opening the door fully.

The good in her life flies out of her home.

Kyoko closes the door and shakily returns to the kitchen. She sinks into a chair, her chest rising and falling as fast as the short breaths she took. “It’ll be fine.” It _was_ fine.

Kyoko wipes away the cold sweat. Her finger stops just a little over her brow. She stares, frozen, at the empty dining table. A bead of sweat trickles down her face and falls to the ground like a solitary drop of rain. The umbrella wasn't all that Makoto borrowed. Just the only one he asked for.

Her cell rings.

“Work” – She reads the caller ID.

A bitter smile warps her features as she leaves the phone ringing, the echoes growing more distant, the closer Kyoko ventures back to her bedroom.

Makoto was pure as freshly fallen snow, and bright as a star. But innocence can be terrifying. Even fatal.

Kyoko slides back into bed and pulls the covers over herself, attempting to return to her rest. A futile endeavor that the storm just wouldn’t allow. Kyoko sits up. She turns to the side, facing her calendar. The end of the month is circled in red. She gives up all hope of sleep after that reminder.

Her feet touch the floor once more. The closet is her destination. She rummages through the storage until she finds a small brown box. Having order drilled into her very DNA by her grandfather had its perks – it made old, forgotten items easy to trace. And olden was a perfect description for the aged CD player.

She blows on the pink surface, coughing slightly amidst the back draft of dust. After everything, she can’t bring herself to throw it away.

“Why would I think of discarding it?” It was a treasured gift from Makoto.

She takes the charger hooked up to the device and plugs it in the socket beside her bed.

Kyoko sits on the soft mattress, placing the CD player on her lap.

Kyoko presses down on the play button.

A melody fills the room. Pleasant, at first. But the euphonious voice that comes after, Kyoko hadn’t heard in a very long time. It brings agony and clarity all at once.

“Heh.” She laughs as Makoto did. Similarly, directed at herself “Won’t tell? More like couldn’t.” It _was_ a silly mix-up. And not the only one.

She let the lyrics of Monochrome Answer play a little longer. It had been some time, but she still remembers the feeling of distance this music evoked. Kyoko hit pause on the CD player and opened the lid. The rotating disc loses momentum until it comes to a halt. She removes the CD and holds it between her fingers. Though its cover was lost to time, the Sayaka Maizono that was burned into the disc was undeniably identical to the image on the album jacket that Kyoko had bought so long ago. The singer had been 20 at the most.

You had no family. No siblings to argue with parents either. Only one absentee father.

_(“Why?”_

_"Whenever you use this, you'll think of me.")  
_

“You always wanted it all.” Years later, she's still trapped under that woman's spell.

Kyoko lifts her head, peering outside her window. The blinds were drawn, leaving the rainy scenery of the city below, bare.

* * *

“You kept me waiting.” The cab driver said when Makoto returns.

“Glad to see you didn’t drive off.” Makoto replies.

“You already paid me, and it’s not like I _wanna_ be active in this awful weather.” The old man triggers his windshield wipers. A click of the tongue follows the minor increase in visibility. “Where to next?”

The thunderclap smothers the name of the address.

The driver barely heard Makoto's voice but knew enough to question. “You got another friend there of all places?”

“Maybe.”

“Alright then.” The wheels spin and Makoto relaxes into the backseat.

The drive is slow, and the destination as far as the previous two. Another conversation was bound to pop-up. “You goin’ on a trip?”

“What makes you say that?”

“I figured these visits must be important if you can’t wait out this storm.” Driver assumes. “Between you and me though, I’d never step foot in prison, even on a sunny day.”

Makoto's expression is a husk of what he showed said friend. Mechanical - a smile without affection. “You get used to it.” He shoves his hands in the green sweater’s pockets and clutches the cold steel hid within.

He gazes out the window.

The raindrops blur the flashes of lightning, painting their vision blue.


End file.
